Apologies, folks.  This is my second fanfic (First to be published) and
it came to me in a rare fit of clarity.  Enjoy!  Please make C&C as this
is my first true post to the FFML!


				ANOTHER DAY AT THE OFFICE

	The phone rang shrilly, causing the desk sergeant to drop his
okonomyakia.  "Good morning, Tokyo Police Station, Ner-" He cut off as a
high-pitched voice chattered at him from the receiver.  "What's that,
madam?  All your *what* has been stolen?  Well, did you see anyone?  I
see.  Uh. . . yes ma'am.  We'll get right to work on it."
	He reached over to the radio.  "Car 51, it's another theft complaint. 
You know the drill."
	"We know the drill." came the bored reply, "We'll report back in as
soon as we have a visual on the suspect.  Car 51 out."
	Putting the microphone down, he rolled his chair over to the filing
cabinets.  Bypassing the empty ones marked, "Murders", "Armed
Robberies", and "Fraud", he rolled into the room labelled "Martial
Artist Offences".
	"Let's see. . ." he mused, looking around.  The room had been converted
from an old tractor trailer just to hold the files.  Row after row of
"Assault and Battery" cabinets lined the walls, each with a WANTED
poster above it.  Darts protruded from the faces of the District's worst
enemies.
	Past those were the "Spousal Abuse" files, dedicated to one Tendo
Akane.  A plaque commemorating her 1,000th arrest was suspended above
them.
	Pausing before the "Grand Larceny: Theft of Women's Undergarments"
cabinets, the sergeant felt a twinge of boredom.  What he wouldn't give
to be investigating a smuggling ring or a drug deal right now.  Or maybe
even a late parking ticket.
	He tossed the latest complaint on top of the cabinet, ignoring the
dozens of others that floated to the ground.  "I should have listened to
my mother," he grumbled, "and become a forest ranger."
	When he returned to his desk , he found a man pacing around in the
lobby, muttering to himself.  "Yes, sir?  How may I help you?"
	"How may you help me?  You can help by getting those destructive kids
off the street!"
	The sergeant sighed.  "Let me guess.  Damage was done to your home?"
	"Correct.  I want to file a complaint!"
	"Certainly, sir.  We have created a special form for your use in this
type of situation.  Now. . ."  He pulled out a clipboard and pen and
began pointing out lines.  "Please indicate the damage done, as in holes
in walls, roofs, or floors.  Also, if you could specify how the damage
was done, whether by a flying body, a ki blast, or a personal weapon. 
And if you can remember the kind of weapon or special attack, it would
be extremely helpful.
	"We have provided a list of names and photos of all known martial
artists in Nerima District.  If you recognize any outlines or faces,
please check the appropriate boxes: a) person thrown into property, b)
person who threw other into property, or c) not-so-innocent bystander.
	"I should mention, though, that if the martial artist in question
seemed to drop in unexpectedly from the sky, there is very little we can
do besides bringing them in for questioning.  They do tend to protect
each other.  Do you have any questions?"
	"Yes.  Who's going to pay for the damage to my house?"
	"As with all our other cases involving damage by martial arts, we
highly recommend the same company used by the Tendo Dojo.  They have
years of experience dealing with damage such as yours.  You will find
the number at the bottom of your form.  And if you mention that you have
filed a complaint with us, they will give you their "Innocent Bystander"
discount."
	The radio crackled to life.  "District Station, this is Car 51.  We
have our suspect in custody.  He was caught with the evidence in hand. 
Please note that we are filing resisting arrest charges and demanding
hazard pay once again."
	He pressed the button.  "I copy, Car 51.  You'll have to take up the
pay issue with the Chief.  Have you disarmed the suspect of all
weaponry?"
	"Affirmative, District.  Please alert the bomb squad that their
services may be needed soon."
	"Copy, Car 51.  District Station out."
	After the sergeant passed on the message to the bomb squad leader, he
was presented with the complaint form.
	"All right, sir.  If I could just have your signature there. . . and
there.  Thank you.  We'll issue a copy of this to the parties
responsible immediately.  If you would like to press charges, please
inform us and we will start the necessary paperwork."
	Heaving another sigh, he gave the man his copy and watched him storm
out of the station.  "Maybe I could get transferred to the Tank Police."
he muttered.
	Then the doors burst open and two officers dragged a wizened old man
in.  "Here he is, Sarge!" one of them gasped.  "The cuffs barely fit
him, you know!"
	The sergeant got up and unlocked the doors leading to the jail.  "Give
him his usual cell, boys.  Hello, Happosai.  At it again, are we?"
	As they went in, a vicious screech assailed their ears.  "You!  When
you let Shampoo out?"
	"Calm down, dear.  You'll be out of here as soon as your
great-grandmother comes to bail you out.  Until then, just sit tight or
I'll put the old pervert in there with you."  Shampoo immediately fell
silent.
	They put Happosai in a cell at the other end of the block.  On the way
out, the sergeant stopped to check on his other prisoner.  "I hope that
things are to your satisfaction, my boy.  The District takes stalking
rather seriously, you know."
	"Pah!  This place cannot possibly contain me!  For I am Kunou Tatewaki,
the Blue Thunder of. . . "
	"Yeah, yeah.  I've heard it all before, son.  Tell it to the judge when
you see him tomorrow."
	Going back to his desk, he leaned back in his seat and put his feet
up.  Just think, I could have been a seiyuu.  Instead, he spent dull,
long days behind a desk, dealing with a bunch of crazy kids.
	Maybe tomorrow would be more exciting.